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Partial exodus
Oct. 29th, 2011 01:32 pmAfternoon all!
Well, on Thursday morning I went in to work, intending to say "I showed up for your meeting, now I am pissing off home to follow one of plans A through E to get my ass out of this particular apartment & to somewhere a bit further away from Waterpocalypse." I left the apartment in a state of moderate buttock-clenching dread, pondering which of my Plans A through E might work, and trying to ignore the signs in the lifts which basically say "Fly, you fools!" in the manner of Gandalf just before he slips down into the pit after the Balrog. As I left the building, a worried frown creasing my brow, something caught my eye. I kept walking, and then my brain replayed the image that it had just recorded, and I did a double take.
There, outside my apartment, was disconcerting evidence that the Bangkokians were taking this oncoming flood seriously, and recklessly casting aside some of their most cherished possessions willy nilly.
More willy than nilly, to be honest: it was a massive black veiny strap-on cock.
I backtracked, giggling, and took a photo, and I have to say that cheered me up no end - good old Bangkok. (Pondering the backstory to this random object, I did wonder whether it was in any way connected with the young lady whom I'd watched clip-clopping into the apartment at 5.30 whilst I was lurking down in the foyer and surfing the internet for news of the floods. I'm assuming that she lives in my building and was returning from a night of work, but it's possible that she was just out having fun, or, conceivably, that she was still at work & somebody had phoned for her - if so, ordering a prostitute clad in skimpy black latex and fabulous fuck-me shoes at 5am does put my own Marie Antoinette-ish response to Floodapalooza into perspective.
But mostly I think she probably was just getting back from work. And most likely the strap-on was part of some entirely different story, even though it would have co-ordinated with her ensemble.
Anyway, I headed on to the Sky Train & hence to work, planning to be all "Hi, I came, now I'm going. Byeee!" However, happily the meeting's main message was that we should all head home & weren't expected again until the following Thursday at the earliest, assuming Waterpocalypse is under control.
So, duty done I sallied off to Siam Paragon to buy a newer, bigger cat box, as the old cat box is fairly knackered, in order to put Operation: Get Out Of Dodge With Cat into action. The New Improved Cat Box is LOOOOVELY; instead of being rigid plastic with metal bars and things, it's all soft, looks like beautiful pink candy striped hand luggage (and can be carried by a handle on top, or with a long strap to sling over one's shoulder, or with a hostess-trolley pull-up handle to pull along on wheels). It is also set to a default of dark & windowless interior, like a budgie cage with a sheet over it, but has mesh windows on 3 sides so you can sort of roll up the curtainy bit and give the cat a view of the world if that seems appropriate. Altogether a lovely thing.
So, I got home & was as nonchalant as humanly possible. You may recall that a year ago, when we had the Exciting Civil Unrest/Snipers At The End Of My Street/Burning Buildings fun'n'games in Bangkok, I was unable to lure the cat into a cat box & eventually had to leave him in the apartment & keep going back to visit him. Far from ideal, but there was physically no way I could get him out from under the bed, the canny little bugger. Happily, however, I managed to take him by surprise this time, and after some rather athletic wrestling and swearing and apologising and mumbling of soothing words which had absolutely no effect, I managed to get him into the upended box and zip the lid shut.
I mopped my brow, feeling quite proud that I'd managed this in only ten minutes (for it has been known to take hours, when he's already got a suspicion that moving might be on the cards), and tipped the cat box gently onto its base. At which point the cat exploded out of the other end, which I had evidently failed to secure.
Le sigh.
Ten minutes later, however, I had the cat zipped securely into his pretty new box, where he was sitting in grim silence, doubtless worrying that this was going to lead to another trip to the vet. (He's never really gotten over the whole traumatic genital mutilation thing from eight years ago, bless him, despite the fact that I have never let anyone cut any parts off him since. I can't really say I blame the poor little bugger. But it had to be done.)
I hurriedly packed a few bags, largely with cat-related things like litter and biscuits and food trays etc, and then piled everything into a taxi & headed off towards Bang Na.
Now, I'm not TECHNICALLY out of Bangkok in the place I've fled to. Indeed, it's entirely possible that my own apartment will remain dryer than where I've moved to - the government seem to be trying to keep the city centre dry as their main priority. However, I've moved in with a friend & her family in their VAST palatial apartment in the South East outskirts of the city. Granted, the water is still bound to come this way, but this is a huge apartment on the 20th floor & the building has its own electricity generator & septic tank, which implies that we shouldn't have to worry about the loos backing up & not working & all that - and, hell, even if that WERE an issue, I still feel like it's less a hive of potential plague and disease out here in the sticks than it would be in the midst of millions of people. We're pretty well stocked up for food & water & there's a massive Tesco across the road to raid for more tinned goods.
So I'm camping out here in the spare room; if things do start to look hairy round here, though, they're heading out of town to Hua Hin & I'll be tagging along, cat in tow.
So, anyway, yes - there I was on Thursday with all my luggage, and finally the taxi got here & the guards outside the building helped unload my bags. I'd had the cat box with me in the back & I put it down with my handbag whilst I paid the taxi driver. Unfortunately, this new cat box looks so much like a normal piece of handluggage that the overenthusiastic guard picked it up, little suspecting it contained live cargo, and swung it rather violently through the air to land atop the rest of the luggage. I realised this as a mighty, terrified caterwauling sound rent the air; The Cat Daniel continued to make appalled and loud complaining wails for the rest of the trip up the lift & to the apartment whilst I made soothing noises.
Once we were safely stowed in the guest room, cat still making angry distressed sounds and cat box quivering, I discovered that the poor little bugger had shat himself quite extravagantly in terror, and both he and the pretty new cat box were in a thoroughly sordid state.
Joy. I duly brought cat and sullied box into the en suite bathroom, set up a litter tray in the corner, opened the box, watched the cat hurl himself into the litter tray and sit there staring at me with an expression of accusation and betrayal on his furry little features as I did my best to clean out the newly-vile box.
Once I'd dealt with that unpleasantness, however, I looked at the cat and realised that he too would need to be cleaned.
Now, I've never understood why anyone would clean a cat. But that's because I've never known a cat to get him or herself messy - they're generally finicky creatures. The Cat Daniel, however, was a thoroughly pitiful and besmirched figure, and there was simply no way that I could let him escape from the confines of the bathroom in that state. My friend has a nine year old and a toddler; she quite definitely doesn't need my cat bringing germs and disease to her beautiful home.
The Cat Daniel and I looked at one another. I giggled, as I realised what the next few minutes evidently held in store. Daniel's eyes narrowed mistrustfully - and well they might.
I stripped down to my undies and manhandled my miserable kitty into the shower before he knew what was happening, and pulled the door closed. He looked up at me. I apologised, and then turned on the shower.
I think it says a lot for his disposition that he made no attempt to savage me, although he did do a lot of distressed huddling as far from the water as he could manage. I drenched him and rubbed him down with a bar of soap, torn between giggling and apologising. I mean, I know that he felt this was cruel and unusual punishment, but I really wasn't doing it maliciously, and he was thoroughly filthy, poor creature. Wet cats are, alas, inherently hilarious, as many an internet image will attest.
Once The Cat Daniel was clean, I opened the door. Now, I hadn't thought this bit through; unsurprisingly, he flung his soaked & drippy little self straight for the reassuring shape of the litter tray in the corner - it being the only familiar object. He then sat his piteous little soggy ass down, soaking the clean litter and turning it to mud which promptly attached itself to his fur. Duh. Should've seen that coming, I guess. To Daniel's utter incredulity, I then dragged him out of the litter tray and rubbed him down with a towel whilst he yowled and cursed my parentage at length.
He spent most of the day huddled underneath the bedclothes and when I tried to make it up to him he pointedly crawled off to a new spot each time. Eventually, however, he got over his grudge, and was sociable towards me again. Slightly. Of course, it's entirely plausible that he's actually biding his time and plotting a truly hideous vengeance...only time will tell.
So anyway, he and I have retreated from Waterpalooza, and are biding our time & waiting to see whether we need to flee the city properly. If we do, we're fairly well stocked with stuff & escape routes. Meanwhile I'm able to go into town, providing that the flood reports are okay, and I can carry on with rehearsing 'Nunsense' and so forth - it's a best of both worlds sort of scenario for the time being. I'll keep you posted, though!
Well, on Thursday morning I went in to work, intending to say "I showed up for your meeting, now I am pissing off home to follow one of plans A through E to get my ass out of this particular apartment & to somewhere a bit further away from Waterpocalypse." I left the apartment in a state of moderate buttock-clenching dread, pondering which of my Plans A through E might work, and trying to ignore the signs in the lifts which basically say "Fly, you fools!" in the manner of Gandalf just before he slips down into the pit after the Balrog. As I left the building, a worried frown creasing my brow, something caught my eye. I kept walking, and then my brain replayed the image that it had just recorded, and I did a double take.
There, outside my apartment, was disconcerting evidence that the Bangkokians were taking this oncoming flood seriously, and recklessly casting aside some of their most cherished possessions willy nilly.
More willy than nilly, to be honest: it was a massive black veiny strap-on cock.
I backtracked, giggling, and took a photo, and I have to say that cheered me up no end - good old Bangkok. (Pondering the backstory to this random object, I did wonder whether it was in any way connected with the young lady whom I'd watched clip-clopping into the apartment at 5.30 whilst I was lurking down in the foyer and surfing the internet for news of the floods. I'm assuming that she lives in my building and was returning from a night of work, but it's possible that she was just out having fun, or, conceivably, that she was still at work & somebody had phoned for her - if so, ordering a prostitute clad in skimpy black latex and fabulous fuck-me shoes at 5am does put my own Marie Antoinette-ish response to Floodapalooza into perspective.
But mostly I think she probably was just getting back from work. And most likely the strap-on was part of some entirely different story, even though it would have co-ordinated with her ensemble.
Anyway, I headed on to the Sky Train & hence to work, planning to be all "Hi, I came, now I'm going. Byeee!" However, happily the meeting's main message was that we should all head home & weren't expected again until the following Thursday at the earliest, assuming Waterpocalypse is under control.
So, duty done I sallied off to Siam Paragon to buy a newer, bigger cat box, as the old cat box is fairly knackered, in order to put Operation: Get Out Of Dodge With Cat into action. The New Improved Cat Box is LOOOOVELY; instead of being rigid plastic with metal bars and things, it's all soft, looks like beautiful pink candy striped hand luggage (and can be carried by a handle on top, or with a long strap to sling over one's shoulder, or with a hostess-trolley pull-up handle to pull along on wheels). It is also set to a default of dark & windowless interior, like a budgie cage with a sheet over it, but has mesh windows on 3 sides so you can sort of roll up the curtainy bit and give the cat a view of the world if that seems appropriate. Altogether a lovely thing.
So, I got home & was as nonchalant as humanly possible. You may recall that a year ago, when we had the Exciting Civil Unrest/Snipers At The End Of My Street/Burning Buildings fun'n'games in Bangkok, I was unable to lure the cat into a cat box & eventually had to leave him in the apartment & keep going back to visit him. Far from ideal, but there was physically no way I could get him out from under the bed, the canny little bugger. Happily, however, I managed to take him by surprise this time, and after some rather athletic wrestling and swearing and apologising and mumbling of soothing words which had absolutely no effect, I managed to get him into the upended box and zip the lid shut.
I mopped my brow, feeling quite proud that I'd managed this in only ten minutes (for it has been known to take hours, when he's already got a suspicion that moving might be on the cards), and tipped the cat box gently onto its base. At which point the cat exploded out of the other end, which I had evidently failed to secure.
Le sigh.
Ten minutes later, however, I had the cat zipped securely into his pretty new box, where he was sitting in grim silence, doubtless worrying that this was going to lead to another trip to the vet. (He's never really gotten over the whole traumatic genital mutilation thing from eight years ago, bless him, despite the fact that I have never let anyone cut any parts off him since. I can't really say I blame the poor little bugger. But it had to be done.)
I hurriedly packed a few bags, largely with cat-related things like litter and biscuits and food trays etc, and then piled everything into a taxi & headed off towards Bang Na.
Now, I'm not TECHNICALLY out of Bangkok in the place I've fled to. Indeed, it's entirely possible that my own apartment will remain dryer than where I've moved to - the government seem to be trying to keep the city centre dry as their main priority. However, I've moved in with a friend & her family in their VAST palatial apartment in the South East outskirts of the city. Granted, the water is still bound to come this way, but this is a huge apartment on the 20th floor & the building has its own electricity generator & septic tank, which implies that we shouldn't have to worry about the loos backing up & not working & all that - and, hell, even if that WERE an issue, I still feel like it's less a hive of potential plague and disease out here in the sticks than it would be in the midst of millions of people. We're pretty well stocked up for food & water & there's a massive Tesco across the road to raid for more tinned goods.
So I'm camping out here in the spare room; if things do start to look hairy round here, though, they're heading out of town to Hua Hin & I'll be tagging along, cat in tow.
So, anyway, yes - there I was on Thursday with all my luggage, and finally the taxi got here & the guards outside the building helped unload my bags. I'd had the cat box with me in the back & I put it down with my handbag whilst I paid the taxi driver. Unfortunately, this new cat box looks so much like a normal piece of handluggage that the overenthusiastic guard picked it up, little suspecting it contained live cargo, and swung it rather violently through the air to land atop the rest of the luggage. I realised this as a mighty, terrified caterwauling sound rent the air; The Cat Daniel continued to make appalled and loud complaining wails for the rest of the trip up the lift & to the apartment whilst I made soothing noises.
Once we were safely stowed in the guest room, cat still making angry distressed sounds and cat box quivering, I discovered that the poor little bugger had shat himself quite extravagantly in terror, and both he and the pretty new cat box were in a thoroughly sordid state.
Joy. I duly brought cat and sullied box into the en suite bathroom, set up a litter tray in the corner, opened the box, watched the cat hurl himself into the litter tray and sit there staring at me with an expression of accusation and betrayal on his furry little features as I did my best to clean out the newly-vile box.
Once I'd dealt with that unpleasantness, however, I looked at the cat and realised that he too would need to be cleaned.
Now, I've never understood why anyone would clean a cat. But that's because I've never known a cat to get him or herself messy - they're generally finicky creatures. The Cat Daniel, however, was a thoroughly pitiful and besmirched figure, and there was simply no way that I could let him escape from the confines of the bathroom in that state. My friend has a nine year old and a toddler; she quite definitely doesn't need my cat bringing germs and disease to her beautiful home.
The Cat Daniel and I looked at one another. I giggled, as I realised what the next few minutes evidently held in store. Daniel's eyes narrowed mistrustfully - and well they might.
I stripped down to my undies and manhandled my miserable kitty into the shower before he knew what was happening, and pulled the door closed. He looked up at me. I apologised, and then turned on the shower.
I think it says a lot for his disposition that he made no attempt to savage me, although he did do a lot of distressed huddling as far from the water as he could manage. I drenched him and rubbed him down with a bar of soap, torn between giggling and apologising. I mean, I know that he felt this was cruel and unusual punishment, but I really wasn't doing it maliciously, and he was thoroughly filthy, poor creature. Wet cats are, alas, inherently hilarious, as many an internet image will attest.
Once The Cat Daniel was clean, I opened the door. Now, I hadn't thought this bit through; unsurprisingly, he flung his soaked & drippy little self straight for the reassuring shape of the litter tray in the corner - it being the only familiar object. He then sat his piteous little soggy ass down, soaking the clean litter and turning it to mud which promptly attached itself to his fur. Duh. Should've seen that coming, I guess. To Daniel's utter incredulity, I then dragged him out of the litter tray and rubbed him down with a towel whilst he yowled and cursed my parentage at length.
He spent most of the day huddled underneath the bedclothes and when I tried to make it up to him he pointedly crawled off to a new spot each time. Eventually, however, he got over his grudge, and was sociable towards me again. Slightly. Of course, it's entirely plausible that he's actually biding his time and plotting a truly hideous vengeance...only time will tell.
So anyway, he and I have retreated from Waterpalooza, and are biding our time & waiting to see whether we need to flee the city properly. If we do, we're fairly well stocked with stuff & escape routes. Meanwhile I'm able to go into town, providing that the flood reports are okay, and I can carry on with rehearsing 'Nunsense' and so forth - it's a best of both worlds sort of scenario for the time being. I'll keep you posted, though!
